


Bloody smiles

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, First Time, Knives, M/M, Post canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Small vignette. Will pulls and Hannibal follows.Post fall Hannigram. First time. First kiss.'The steps are audible, on purpose as he knows, making him smile, softly. The words come, almost inaudibly, yet he knows Hannibal will hear him."Our transformation began with a bloody smile that night..."Hannibal steps close, careful not to throw his shadow on Will. His words are low as well, pitched just for Will to hear."Dripping black on moonlit stones."'





	Bloody smiles

So many things of this seem like a dream still.

Will drifts a bit through the crowd, intermingling, the warm night sky permeated with fumes, the festival a heaving, breathing -thing- coiling around him, bodies brushing by.

He raises his head, eyes unseeing on the stars for a moment, the collar of his shirt catching, the soft cloth shifting with the movement. Soft, clinging, embracing and fitted, dressing him up in something chosen. For him. Marking him. Branding him. Will exhales, feeling the gaze for an instant. 

Never away.

Gone again, gone again.

The smile burns on his stomach, the scars on his face pulse, once.

Laughter, branding up to him, there and gone again, as well.

The lights dim as the crowd two tents over cheers, the first riffs of some kind of rock song felt deep in his body.

There it is again, like a tickle in his brain.

Will inhales, drifting with the crowd, knowing Hannibal will follow. Restlessness has been a constant, driving him from the house they shared to heal, driving him, driving him. Not away, but ... He exhales, his lungs burning. 

Whatever it is, it drives them both now. 

There is some kind of monument next to the festival area, the stone slabs beckoning. Stone, bathed in moonlight, illuminated by light from one side.

Will's heart beats hard, once. 

His hand clenches on the folded knife in his pocket, aching.

The sounds dim with every step, turning into white-noise, moonlit shadows reaching.

There is a stone in the middle, words etched into it, faded letters, full of mourning.

Mourning for lives lost.

A list of sacrifices for a hungry god.

Will traces the stone, his fingers catching a bit, feeling the weight again for an instant.

So many things, unspoken.

He looks up at the moon, so similar as to how it looked that night. He raises his left hand, the light skin almost glowing. 

Missing contrast.

He's closer now.

Will lowers his hand, reaching into himself. Lets himself fall into the feeling.

He lowers himself onto the stone, the slab warm under his back. He pulls his legs up, knees bent, arms spreading out to reach, his eyes falling closed. 

The steps are audible, on purpose as he knows, making him smile, softly. The words come, almost inaudibly, yet he knows Hannibal will hear him.

"Our transformation began with a bloody smile that night..."

Hannibal steps close, careful not to throw his shadow on Will. His words are low as well, pitched just for Will to hear.

"Dripping black on moonlit stones."

Will smiles, pressing down on the stone with his fingers.

"I wore a shirt you had fitted for me as well."

A small pause, a minute shift though no steps can be heard.

"As you have done for every night now."

Will opens his eyes again, keeping them on the stars above. He reaches into his pocket with his right hand, pulling the knife out after a moment. Another shift and then Hannibal's hand on his own, holding it against his hip.

"Will."

Will's smile broadens, eyes still transfixed on the sky above.  
He shakes his head, eyebrows raising.

"The transformation has to be completed with a bloody smile."

He closes his eyes for a moment before turning to Hannibal, stormy blue on deep red.

"Please, Hannibal."

There is a long pause and then Hannibal takes the knife from him, the metallic snick as it is opened echoed by Will's gasp, yearning suddenly.

He pulls at the shirt, flattening against his stomach, knowing Hannibal will know.

The cloth parts and fire touches Will, making him moan. Wet hot heat drips, the smell so instantly intense it makes his head spin. The line stops and Will gasps, his hands coming up to grip Hannibal's hand. Will shakes his head, not in negation though, pulling at Hannibal's hand, making him continue. They drag the fire left together, following Will's smile, Hannibal a dark shadow, stealing the light, the knife fusing them together.

Will is shaking by the end the fire stops, wetness all over his stomach. He unclenches his hands from around Hannibal's hand, reopening eyes he doesn't recall closing.

Hannibal pulls his own shaking hand back, the knife clattering to the ground, an explosion of sound between them.

Will holds up his left hand, watching the blood flow down his wrist, thin rivulets of black liquid, cooling on his skin.

He reaches after a moment and Hannibal comes, bending down so that Will can push his hand up Hannibals jaw, holding lightly, thumb stroking. 

An echo of times long past.

Will pulls and Hannibal bends, their meeting natural and instinctual, warmth and breath shared. 

Beautiful, still, finally.

Will pulls more and Hannibal comes down onto him, the blood from the superficially opened scar molding them together. 

Will raises his eyes to the moon when the world shatters in ecstasy, the tatters of his shirt shifting when he grips onto Hannibal's shoulders.

He leaves the knife there, for the world to find.


End file.
